


Whumptober 2018 - Johnlock version

by lost_in_a_sea_of_fandoms



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Whump, Whumptober 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-23 04:42:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16151813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_in_a_sea_of_fandoms/pseuds/lost_in_a_sea_of_fandoms
Summary: A few prompt fills from Whumptober 2018.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> John is hurt and Sherlock just can't take it anymore...  
> Prompt fill for day one of Whumptober, prompt Stabbed.

It was a cold, blustery fall evening, and they had just solved a case. In retrospect, John realizes later, that may have been why they missed those first warning signs. Still riding the adrenaline high of the successful chase, they were laughing and joking around. Neither man noticed the shadow following them through the alleyways. The shadow that would change everything.

"Did you see his..." John suddenly trailed off in mid sentence. A small flash of light in his periferal vision had caught his eye. Most would have thought it to be a cat, thinking no more of it. But John was a soldier. He instantly recognized the flash of streetlights off of the metal blade of a knife. He immediatly knew he only had a few seconds to respond. And respond he did. With all the strength of a man protecting that which he holds most dear, he sprang in front of Sherlock, pushing the man to the side. This, however, left him with no time to disarm his enemy. All he could do was take the hit, and hope it didn't hit anything vital. 

He was prepared for the pain, but was still unable to keep a whimper from escaping. It felt like fire and ice at the same time, burning and freezing all at once. Then the knife was ripped from his body, making his vision go dark for a moment. When it cleared, he realized he was no longer standing upright. His heart was pounding in his ears so loudly that he could hardly hear a thing. "Sherlock must have gone after the man..."he thought to himself, and let his eyes flutter closed. Suddenly, someone was shaking his shoulder. He managed to get his eyes open. Sherlock was kneeling next to him, eyes wide with terror.

"...ohn. John!" Sherlock shouted. "What should I do?"he asked. John tried to say something, but his voice was hoarse. He saw Sherlock calling someone, an ambulance probably. By the time the phone call ended, John had his voice back. "Sh'lock. You need to put pressure on the wound, stop the bleeding" he chocked out. "Alright, John..." Sherlock responded, his voice oddly soft. "Just stay with me." "That was odd", John thought to himself. "Where would I go?" He was just going to take a little nap. He was so tired. Just before the world dissolved into blackness, he felt a droplet fall onto his face. He looked up to see Sherlock crying. He tried to tell him it would be okay, that everything was fine, but he no longer had the strength.

When John woke up, he had no idea where he was. His side hurt and... was that a heart rate monitor beeping? He slowly opened his eyes and looked around. He was definitely in the hospital. Spartan white walls, sterile furniture. A few different machines and an IV drip in his arm. John slowly turned his head to the other side and saw Sherlock. He was sitting in an uncomfortable-looking hospital chair. His face was buried in his hands and his shoulders were shaking.  
"Sherlock, love,..." John said and Sherlock's head flew up to look at him. His eyes were red-rimmed and full of tears. When he reached out to John, he did it with an expression so full of raw terror and need that John's heart ached.  
"John? Are you alright?" he asked, his voice grief-stricken. "Of course, love." John responded. Seeing Sherlock's eyes filling with tears once more had him shifting to the side and pushing back the blanket. "Come here, love," he said gently "you need to rest."  
The fact that Sherlock didn't fight him at all told John just how shaken and exhausted he was. He simply curled up next to John, his head resting against John's shoulder. He looked so perfect, just laying there, that John couldn't help but to press a chaste kiss to his forehead before drifting off to sleep. There would be things they'd have to discuss, but for now, they slept, comforted by the knowledge that they were both safe and, most importantly, together.


	2. Insomnia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's experiment is driving John crazy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill for day three of Whumptober. Prompt was Insomnia.

It was all Sherlock's fault. This was the conclusion John came to at 4AM. His other conclusion was that he'd be getting absolutely no sleep. Again.

All of John's problems had started a week ago. It was the middle of summer, and London was sweltering. Sherlock had decided that he would use the heat to his advantage in order to conduct an experiment. John had been quite supportive at first. All of London's criminals seeemed to have given in to the heat, so they had had no interesting cases in weeks. Sherlock had been quickly approaching an explosive level of boredom. John had gladly jumped onto his idea of an experiment in the hopes of occupying his flamate's mind.He regretted this decision as soon as Sherlock told him what the experiment would contain.  
"I'm going to be testing the effecrs of clothing, or rather, the lack of it on thermoregulation" Sherlock announced, completely oblivious to John's horror.  
John was panicking. "Oh god, I'm already attracted to him when he's dressed, what am I going to do if he's running around partially undressed?"  
It didn't start out too badly. Sherlock came downstairs in just a t-shirt, instead of his usual button-downs, and John breathed a sigh of relief. The next morning, though, he realized he had been celebrating prematurely.

When John came downstairs, Sherlock was lying on the sofa. He was only wearing trousers, and John gulped and hurried into the kitchen to make tea (and clear his head). It wasn't working though. The image of Sherlock's torso, the pale skin contrasting so strikingly with his dark hair. And those eyes... John needed to stop this. Out of pure desperation, he called Sarah and asked if he could come to work. All the doctors were in, so he thanked her and hung up, finally deciding to just go to a museum. It would be air-conditioned, and he could get out of the flat.

That night, he lay in his bed, unable to sleep, that image of Sherlock burned into his eyes.  
And it only got worse from there. Today, in fact, Sherlock had only been wearing a pair of skin-tight shorts, possibly originally meant for dancing.  
Every day, Sherlock had revealed a few more square inches of beautiful skin. And every night, John had stayed awake until the wee hours of the morning, falling asleep only to dream of Sherlock. And with every day, John grew more and more desperate. He had come to the conclusion that he was hopelessly in love with Sherlock. And hopeless was a great way to describe it. Because there was no way Sherlock "married to my work" Holmes would love him back.

Or was there?


	3. "No, stop!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A case turns bad, leaving John in the hospital. Truths are revealed.  
> Prompt fill for day 4 of Whumptober. Prompt was "No, stop!"

It's a quiet, seemingly peaceful August night. A gentle breeze is blowing, and a few soft, fluffy clouds move across the sky. Despite the calm appearance, not all is as it seems. Three men, dressed all in black, approach a nondescript building that, in reality, conceals a top-secret government lab. An anonymous "friend" has supplied them with the entrance codes, so the high-security locks pose them no problem. They make their way towards a certain lab, as instructed, and make an easy getaway with the labs most prized discovery. A complex virus that is not only highly infectious, but also water-soluble. It's a very dangerous weapon when placed iin the wrong hands. And it's certaintly in the wrong hands now.

(3 hours later)  
A man, thought by those who don't know him to hold a small position in the British government, but who, in reality, is almost the entire British government, is awoken by a phone call on the secure line by his bed. The panicked voice of the lead researcher at a certain top-secret lab is all it takes to awaken him quickly.  
Although he's loathe to admit it, Mycroft Holmes is perfectly aware that there is only 1 person capable of handling such a case. Sighing, he picks up his phone and calls his brother.

(1 week later)  
John had known the case was serious from the moment Sherlock had answered the phone, talked to Mycroft without a single insult, and actually invited the man over. Well, technically, he had said "Bring me as much information as you can. I need data!", but even that was groundbreaking. Sherlock had even appeared worried as he told John of the robbery that had happened at the lab.  
And Sherlock had been right to worry. The more they learned of the case, the deeper it seemed to go, like an intricate spiderweb connecting seemingly unrelated incidents, facts and people. After a week of almost nonstop work, they had finally been able to find the robbers headquarters, a storage facility on the outskirts of London. They did have backup, but John was still concerned it might be a trap.  
He doesn't realize how right he is until the emergency sprinkler system comes on overhead, just as he's entering the building. He whirls around towards the exit, then realizes that there's no point in running. The damage had already been done. He sees Sherlock, barely covered by the doorway, and can almost see the moment Sherlock decides to go and help him.  
"No, stop!" John yells out, panic audible in his tone. "Don't come near me!" he repeats, ignoring Sherlock's half-angry, half-worried expression. Once he stops moving, John shoots him a sad smile. It will be a while until he'll be allowed to see his friend again. As soon as the sprinklers are shut down, he'll be taken to the hospital and quarantined. The doctors and nurses will do all they can to help John's body fight the virus. John is only hoping those scientists were also working on a cure. Otherwise, John has a hard few weeks ahead of him.  
The first time John wakes up, everything hurts. He opens his eyes, but shuts them immediately. Everything is far too bright. He hears voices, but doesn't recognize them. After a minute, he feels himself drifting, so he stops fighting and just lets the blackness overpower him.  
The next time he wakes up, he feels quite a bit better. His head is clearer and he can actually open his eyes and look around. As soon as she notices that he's awake, a nurse in a quarantine suit walks in and asks him several questions. He answers them all, but it's surprisingly exhausting, and he falls back asleep as soon as she leaves.  
The third time he wakes up, he feels almost normal. Almost as if he was at home, in the flat. Except someone is holding his hand. That's unusual. Even more unusual, though, is the fact that said person has dropped his hand as soon as John stirred and now seems to be waiting with baited breath.  
John opens his eyes and looks over at Sherlock. He begins to worry as he takes in the dark circles under his flatmates eyes, his weary expression, the red-rimmed eyes.  
"How long?" he asks, voice hoarse with misuse. "A week and a half" is Sherlock's response. "You haven't left. " This is a statement, not a question, so Sherlock doesn't respond. He just looks down, and when he looks back up, John is shocked to see his eyes are full of tears.  
"I'm sorry I dragged you into this case," he chokes out "you've been unconscious for ten days because of me!" Shocked as John is by this show of emotion, he still manages to respond quite succinctly.  
"It's all worth it to me, Sherlock. You know it's my greatest joy and privilege to be able to help you, and I owe you as much after you saved my life."  
Sherlock is confused by that final statement, but he sees John's hands shaking and it all comes together. The injured soldier, the PTSD, the loaded gun, and he pulls John into a fierce hug as he realizes the implications of what his friend is saying. As he sees John's bright smile, though, he knows that, at least for now, all is well.


	4. Betrayed by his heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has been in love with Sherlock since he can remember. The only catch is, Sherlock can't know about it.  
> Prompt fill for day six of Whumptober. Prompt was Betrayed.

Sherlock had been noticing the signs for a while now. The little things that most people would miss. The lingering gaze, the increased frequency of seemingly random touches that would last just a few seconds longer than normal. He had even, on occasions, noticed an increase in heart rate, although he tried to blame that on adrenaline. At a certain point, though, he had to admit that he was definitely not misreading the signs. His flatmate was in love with him. So Sherlock took an evening, lay down on the couch in his usual mind palace pose, and went through almost every memory he had with John. And he came to an interesting conclusion. Not only was John in love with him, and had been for a while, but Sherlock found that he, himself was similarly affected. As he thought of the possibility of John getting hurt, or leaving, he found that these possibilities caused him considerable distress. He also decided that it would be a wise choice to speak to John about this sentiment. He just had to pick a good moment.  
John had been in love with Sherlock since… well, he didn’t even know when he had first felt it. When he had shot that cabbie for a man whom he had known for less than 24 hours? When Sherlock had cured his limp? Maybe it went all the way back to “Afghanistan or Iraq?” Either way, the strength of John’s love and loyalty was equal only to his fear of Sherlock finding out about it. He would much rather pine and suffer over his unrequited love than lose the detective’s friendship. And although it was torture to be around Sherlock and yet never be able to touch him, it was a small price to pay in exchange for just being around Sherlock. John had long ago decided that he would do everything he could in order to hide his secret.  
And then, one chilly, rainy February day, John came home from work. His bus had broken down and he had been forced to walk several blocks in the pouring rain. He was looking forward to a warm cup of tea, more than anything. But, as he reached into the cabinet and grabbed his cup, he was horrified to find that it contained a single human eyeball. Most days, John would have sighed, handed the cup to Sherlock and grabbed another one. He had had a miserable day, though. [So many sick children…] To add insult to injury, this was his favorite cup, a gift from his old army buddies. He thought that Sherlock had agreed that this cup was off limits for experiments.  
Turning around to face Sherlock, he asked “Why is there an eyeball in my cup, Sherlock?” Sherlock didn’t even look up from his microscope “It’s an experiment.” “Yes, but why is it in my cup?!” John was getting quite angry, so he was glad to see Sherlock finally make eye contact with him. “I couldn’t find any others.” Sherlock said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. At this, John finally exploded: “We agreed that this cup was off limits, you insufferable git!”  
Without thinking, Sherlock responded: “I may be an insufferable git, but you love me anyway.” John froze. It almost felt like his heart had stopped beating. He swallowed, hard. He didn’t even dare look at Sherlock’s face, terrified at the thought of seeing the derision he was sure was there. After a silent, tense moment, John turned and wordless walked out the door.  
He barely even made it out of the building before the tears started to fall. This was exactly what he had hoped wouldn’t happen. He was going to have to move out, go back to that depressing, run-down little bed-sit, but worst of all, he would be alone again. After all, there was no way Sherlock would ever see him the same way again.  
John was glad for the pouring rain, as it hid the tears that still streamed down his face. He had no idea where he was walking; he wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings. A half-hour later, though, he realized he had arrived at a park. Not just any park, though, it was the park where he had met Mike Stamford on that fateful day.* The irony of where he was did not escape him as he sat down on the same park bench as on that day, a few years ago. He was aware of the pitying glances coming from people passing by. He wasn’t even wearing a coat, after all.  
For the first time, John cursed Sherlock’s deductive abilities. Had Sherlock not been so perceptive, John would have never been betrayed by his behavior, or maybe just his facial expression.  
John was losing himself in his own misery. He didn’t even notice the slight shift in the bench as someone sat down next to him. He did notice, however, when someone draped a warm, wooly coat over his shoulders. He looked up, confused, and saw that Sherlock was sitting right next to him. A fresh wave of tears streamed down his face and he dropped his head in shame. Suddenly, a hand gently cupped his cheek, forcing John to look up. Sherlock looked as sad as John felt.  
Eyes full of tears, Sherlock choked out “I’m so sorry, John. I never meant to cause you this much pain. Please don’t leave. I wouldn’t survive without you.” A strange sort of desperation appeared on Sherlock’s face. “I love you, John. Please don’t leave me…” John’s heart stopped for the second time that night. He had never dared hope that his feelings would be returned. “I’ll never leave you, I promise.” He responded, covering Sherlock’s hand, which was still lingering on his cheek, with his own. And with that, the two men shared a tight hug before they walked home. They held hands the entire way home.  
And in that moment, nothing else existed. It was just the two of them, and that was all they needed. They were each other’s worlds. Two lost men, no longer lost, in a perfect balance. Just the two of them against the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * I know nothing about London, so lets all just pretend you can get from 221b to the park where they met, by foot, in a half-hour.


End file.
